Spinning
by 8BonnieBlue8
Summary: We all know who the Black sisters became but who were they in the beginning? What battles did they face to become the women we know? A story centred around Bellatrix Black, mostly, but also includes her sisters and some other characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Spinning **

_**A/N: this is just a little prologue, the rest of the chapters will be longer. Now, I just want to say ahead of time that the ages of the characters in this story are seriously AU and not correct, which I had to do in order to make it all work so I hope it doesn't bother anyone too much. **_

_**Also the quote in this story, the one supposedly written by Ophelia Black, is actually based on a quote by Elbert Hubbard. In short, I read his quote wrong and thought it went like this and it really didn't. But I like it this way for the story so I'm not going to change it.**_

_**Disclaimer: the characters do not in any way belong to me and are in fact the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

"_As long as the world is turning and spinning, we're gonna be dizzy and we're gonna make mistakes."_

_Mel Brooks_

_There's an old autograph book lying in the toy box back at home, I'd stuffed it down there one evening, burried beneath cloths and blankets and toys so that Walburga would never get her greedy hands on it (it was a family heirloom and she'd wanted it from day one)._

_At the back of the book, in tiny scrawling handwriting that was almost impossible to read was a quote written by one of my ancestors, Ophelia Black. The first thing that drew me to this page was the connection – Ophelia was my middle name – but the second was the utter fascination of the quote above._

_Die, v: To stop spinning suddenly._

_When I was younger I used to test this theory out, twirling and twirling around in miniscule circles that gradually grew larger and larger. I'd spin and spin to the point where I almost couldn't feel the ground beneath me, to the point where I thought I was flying. _

_And then, suddenly, I would stop. I'd have a split second of recognition before I would tumble, falling back until I hit the ground. Dazed I'd stare up at the sky, my vision a blue of colours and lights. By then everything had stopped, my feet, the ground, the wind but in my head I was still spinning._

_Dizzyingly, a thought would echo in my head – 'So, this is what it feels like to die'._

_It wasn't so bad._


	2. Moments

…

"_There's moments in your life that make you, that set the course of who you're gonna be. Sometimes they're little, subtle moments. Sometimes they're not. I'll show you what I mean."_

_Whistler (Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

_8 years earlier_

It was a cool winter's morning the day I got that knock on the door. I'd like to say I saw it coming, like the great seer Cassendra it was sent to me in a vision; I'd like to say I'd watched the stars the night before and seen it in their constellations, that the leaves falling harmlessly to the ground had told me a tale. But I didn't.

The day I got that knock on the door was my birthday but other than that a day like any other. The temperature was its usual cool, the wind blew but not too strong and the sun kept itself hidden behind threatening storm clouds – all normal things during the winter.

So really there had been no signs.

But when I opened that door – a door that should have been opened by our governess Mialita but she was too busy directing the houself to clean up whatever was left of my party – I got this feeling; a feeling like the one I got whenever my sisters and I had a fight, a boiling icky feeling in the pit of my stomach, bubbling slowly up and engulfing me. That was the feeling I got when I opened the door and saw a tall man dressed in fine black robes standing there with a solemn expression on his pudgy face.

Now, my momma said never to trust a man in such dress robes (which included basically everyone I'd ever met) but great Aunt Walburga says never to trust a word that comes out of my momma's mouth. Aunt Walburga said a lot of things about my momma, like how Papa had degraded himself greatly by marrying the likes of her, a common pureblood woman who held little sway in society, but then Momma told me one night great Uncle Orion had died from the after effects of marrying Walburga so I suppose, in retrospect, my papa did a right smart thing by marrying my momma.

I stayed partly hidden behind the door as the man looked me over, taking in my white tights riding up under my red velvet dress that was slightly uncomfortable but sure pretty to look at; my sisters had matching ones that they were wearing now, only theirs were in emerald and blue (the blue of course belonged to Narcissa – her favourite colour). My curly hair hung in ringlets down my back, kept off my face by a matching red headband and my black shoes were polished to shine by our elf Mitsy.

"Can I help you?" I asked politely; who said I didn't know my manners? Aunt Walburga, of course.

"Um, yes." I watched as he took of his glasses and stared me down. "Is there an adult in the house?"

I thought of Mialita in the kitchen but then I remembered how grownups never tell me anything and if I didn't get Mialita then maybe he'll tell me what was going on. So I shook my head, the perfect picture of innocence.

He seemed put out by this but tried not to show it.

"Who are you, sir?" I asked, trying my best to look every inch the responsible adult he was looking for, even though I wasn't.

"I'm Bill Donalow, I work for the ministry. And what would your name be?" He smiled at me, warm and smooth like honey.

I raised my chin, standing up straight. "Bellatrix Black, sir."

"Well, that is a pretty name if I ever heard one."

I scrunched up my nose at his words, remembering something. "My cousin Sirius doesn't think so."

"Well, I'm sure he's just jealous that such a pretty girl like you has a nicer name than him," he told me with a grin.

A beam grew upon my face and I stepped a little further into view. "Thankyou, sir."

He smiled too but after a pause it was replaced by a look of solemnity. I decided then and there I hated that look. "Bellatrix, there's something I have to tell you."

That feeling returned then, you know the icky one, and my hand shook on the door knob. Somehow, I couldn't explain how, I knew what was coming.

He seemed to notice how pale my face had gotten for he said, "Perhaps we should talk about this inside."

But I shook my head stubbornly, determined to find out what was going on here and now. "I think here's good."

He sighed, giving in. "Bellatrix . . . well, there's been an accident."

I looked away, already somehow knowing where this was going. My eyes focused on the entrance to the playroom down the hall where Narcissa and Andromeda were poking their heads out, curious as to why their sister hadn't returned to play with them yet.

"Your parents . . ." he trailed off, unsure how to continue. It was obvious he wasn't used to doing this sort of thing and had expected, upon showing up, to drop whatever news he had off with an adult so they could pass it along to us.

I looked back at him, eyes wide and blank as the cool winter air blew in from outside. It twisted around my throat like a hand searching for its next victim and like any vengeful hand it held tight, strangling and constricting my airways until I almost couldn't breathe.

"Your parents are . . . well, your parents are dead."

The fist held tighter and I breathed in, struggling.

They couldn't be dead, there was no way. They'd just been with me this morning for my party, we'd had a great time and Momma had turned Papa's hair pink to make us laugh. They'd walked out the door around noon for their daily walk but they would come back, just like they always did; they always came back.

"I'm sorry."

It was that look on Bill Donalow's face that did it, that made it true as I stared at him wide-eyed and pale. So like any reasonable person that couldn't breathe and felt like they were going to have a heart attack, I fainted.

…

_"...Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are."_

_- Whistler (Max Perlich) of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"_


	3. Birthday Tears

When I woke up I was flat on my back on the floor, head resting in Mialita's lap. Cissy and Andy were crowded around me looking frightened and Mr Donalow was standing a few feet away, looking at a loss as to what to do. He was also getting a good verbal lashing from an indignant Mialita.

"I can't believe you told her without a grownup present," she exclaimed, looking mighty angry.

I closed my eyes, dazed, before anyone could realize that I had opened them in the first place.

"She said there wasn't anyone else here," he replied in a guilty tone.

Mialita scoffed. "She's eight years old – of course there was someone here with her."

I tried to recall what had happened before I fainted, scrolling through the memories with great difficulty. There'd been a party and I'd finally gotten that black dress I'd been pining after for so long. Papa's hair had gone the colour of that sweet I'd seen a muggle boy eating one time, what had he called it? Fairy floss? Then they'd gone out for a walk and Bill Donalow had shown up looking right grim. And then . . .

I don't know when it happened and I don't know for how long it lasted but all of a sudden I was screaming. I was screaming so loud that I'm sure my grandma Willes, rest her soul, was woken from the dead. Then of course Cissy and Andy had to scream too because whatever I did they surely had to follow.

I don't know why I was screaming but I always had had a rather eccentric way of expressing how I felt, my momma always said. She used to say also that I had the lungs of a banshee and I'm sure Bill Donalow would agree with her as he cupped his hands over his ears.

Then I was crying, head turned over into sweet Mialita's lap as I stained her robes with tears. I didn't know why I screamed but I knew why I cried and I knew when Cissy and Andy shortly followed that they did it for their own reasons and not mine. Our parents were dead – they didn't need an example to know how to cry for that.

….

"So is he going to prison?" Mialita asked. "They do call them prisons in the muggle world, right?"

I poked my head around the corner to the hallway. Mialita was busy talking to Bill Donallow about . . . about what had happened and as far as she knew my sisters and I were safely tucked up in bed. Well, part of that was true.

"Yes, that's what they call them," Mr Donallow said uncomfortably. "The thing is, it's a rather tricky situation. He didn't intentionally hit Mr and Mrs Black, he was drunk – so it'll be manslaughter at best. It really depends on how he does in court but I'm sure he'll get some time."

Mialita bristled. "Cygnus and Druella are dead, they're children are orphaned, and he'll only get a little time for that?" she demanded in outrage. "He should be in there for life!"

I inhaled sharply, wondering what his reply would be.

"I know, Miss White, but it's just not up to us."

Disappointed, I turned away and walked back down the hall.

So a muggle had killed my parents. I was starting to see why everyone else hated them so much.


	4. A Funeral

I stared at the coffin which held the bodies of my parents as it was slowly lowered into the ground. It was a large one, built to fit both their forms as I'd seen earlier, gazing into the open coffin with bated breath expecting to see . . . what? I didn't know. They'd looked like they were sleeping but a deathly sleep that they would never awaken from. Momma's impossibly long blonde hair had wound its way around Papa's form and their hands had been clasped together in a sign of eternal love . . . at least, that's what Mialita had called it when she caught me looking. I on the other hand had taken one look at them and seen all I had lost in that one glance. I'd been keenly aware of what their deaths meant of course but their bodies resting there, deathly still, were just the exclamation point.

I'd made sure not to let dear Cissy or Andy get a looksee as well – I knew they wouldn't be able to handle it.

The black plastic chair that I sat on was extremely uncomfortable and it jutted into my back at all the wrong places but I suppose that was only to be expected – after all, how could anything be comfortable at a funeral?

Everything was black, everywhere I looked that's what I saw.

Except Narcissa, who had flat out refused to wear the silk black dress Mialita had set down on her blue bed and had instead insisted on wearing her white party dress that had always been Papa's favourite. Mialita hadn't protested much, how could she when she was preparing three young girls for their parents' funeral and this just happened to be the one desire of one of those girls' hearts?

Andromeda was wearing a plain black dress she'd worn to our uncle's funeral last year. When she'd first tried it on it had been too small but a quick magical adjustment by Mialita's wand and it had fit perfectly. But I'd seen the look on Andy's face after she'd tried it on for the final time and knew that she would have preferred it to have stayed small and tight because then at least she would've had the horrible discomfort to distract her from what was really happening today.

My dress on the other hand had fitted perfectly from the beginning, as it should when being the one I received for my birthday. It was funny, when tearing the wrapping paper open that morning I had had no idea I would be wearing the gift inside to my parents' funeral. I'd loved this dress, looked at it in the window like it was a treasure to behold . . . after today, I doubted I'd be able to ever spare it a another glance. Its satin lining was now filled with pain and memories, hardly something I would ever be able to wear again.

Mialita rose from her seat just as the coffin finished its decsent. I stayed where I was, starring and wondering half-heartedly whether there was any chance I could crawl into that coffin with them and be hidden away too. The prospect of going on without my parents was far too daunting to even conceive.

"Come on, it's time to go, girls," the governess said, smiling a kind watery smile back at us.

I avoided her gaze and tapped Cissy lightly on the back as a sign for her to move. She'd been sitting on my lap throughout the whole event, clutching at the fabric of my dress when the reality of things shimmered in and out of her gaze. Now, Narcissa hopped to the ground, white shoes hitting the grass with a squash as her platinum hair blew momentarily in front of her face. Almost immediately, she reached back for my hand, searching for guidance, and without pause I took it, rising to my feet as well.

It was then I reached back for Andy who was still sitting with her feet dangling carelessly back and forth just inches above the ground. She'd been staring fixedly down at the grass for the past five minutes but when she saw my hand she let out a reluctant sigh and hopped off the seat, latching onto it with hers.

We left that cemetery as a united front, hoping desperately that it was all we would need to get us through the years to come.

_I don't think we've ever been more wrong in our lives._

…

I sat on the bed, watching as Mialita piled my clothes into a brand new trunk, bought especially for this occasion. Her long blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail, had wisps of hair escaping that fell in her face and stuck to her lipstick as she worked. She was a pretty woman, no older than twenty, and a kind one at that. She was, of course, from a pureblood family – it would be the scandal of the century if she wasn't – but just over four years ago they'd been bankrupt. Mialita had taken up the job as our governess and teacher because it payed well and she needed to get her family back up on their feet. Now I needed to get mine back on theirs.

"Do we have to go?" I asked, hands folded in my lap as I watched her. Cissy and Andy were downstairs listening to the Wizarding Wireless, searching for an appropriate distraction to keep their minds off what exactly had happened that day.

"Yes, of course," she replied with a sympathetic smile. "You can't very well live here by yourselves, now can you?"

"But why can't the Rosiers come here?" I whined, loathing the idea of leaving my family home where'd I'd spent all my life. I knew this house, this land – I didn't know the Rosier's lot from Dumbledore's. "Why do we have to go to their house?"

Mialita chuckled lightly at my apparent ignorance. "Well, because that simply isn't done, Bella." Seeing my pout she continued. "Now, your aunt and uncle are being very generous in taking you in. You're lucky to be going to their house in the first place."

I sighed, knowing the truth in her words. An old friend of mine – a half-blood – had lost his parents two years ago. The only family had had left alive wouldn't take him in because his father had been disowned when he had decided to marry the boy's mother. The last I'd heard, he was rotting away in some bloody orphanage.

"You're coming though, aren't you?" I asked and Mialita paused in her packing.

She glanced over at me, regretful, and I watched with wide eyes as she gnawed nervously on her bottom lip. "No I'm afraid not, Bella. I'm afraid not."

"Why?" My voice sounded positively stricken, as it should. I had not been expecting this turn of events; how could the world do this to me – tear away my parents and now Mialita too?

"The Rosiers aren't willing to pay the required fee for employing a governess," she answered, deciding to continue on with the packing.

"But can't you work with us for free? I thought you liked spending time with us." I was feeling the seeds of betrayal starting to sink in and gazed at her with pleading eyes of charcoal.

"I _do_, Bella," she insisted, turning her head to look at me, "but I need to be payed. I need money."

"But who's going to look after us?"

I felt myself becoming suddenly small, like a mouse, and even as I kept my attention on the conversation at hand I couldn't help but look around for any possible cats that might swallow a little thing like me whole.

"Why, your aunt and uncle of course," Mialita chuckled as if it was obvious.

"Who's going to teach us our lessons?" I persisted, there had to be something, something to get her to stay on with us, anything . . .

"I expect they'll hire a tutor for you and your sisters; it's what most of the families do."

"But . . ." I stared at her wide eyed, pleading. Surely she must see that we still needed her, that she couldn't go.

"I'm sorry, Bella," she whispered, eyes sad.

I sat back, devastated, as she returned to packing. I felt a chilling coldness set over me, even though I could feel myself sweating through the sleeves of my black dress. How could all this be happening? How could someone suddenly decide that I was to lose everything, and in just a short span of each other?

"I'll right to you, though," she promised, not looking at me.

"I'd like that." The words escaped me in a whisper, barely registered as I sat dazed.

My eyes watched her fingers as they worked diligently on packing everything away. Somehow, I couldn't help but think that with every coat, every dress that piled in, just a little bit more of my old life was being packed away, never to be seen again.

…

"_From where i'm standing _

_you're the quiet side of the road _

_you're looking so lonely _

_and i can't stop looking at you _

_your head is hanging _

_trying to beat those goodbye blues _

_i bet you'll be fine _

_i bet you'll be fine."_

_Schuyler Fisk : From Where I'm Standing Lyrics_

…

Rodolphus Lestrange, a young boy of eight, pressed his hands to the glass of the bedroom window, as he watched a ministry ordered car park outside the Rosier's house. He'd heard from their son, Evan, that his cousins were coming to live with him and, as could be expected, his curiosity was peaked.

The car door swung open and a tall young woman dressed in black with long blonde hair stepped out. Rodolphus watched as she walked around the side of the car and opened the back door. Here, he pressed his face closer to the glass, aware that this was the moment he had been waiting for.

A girl, around about his own age, stepped out onto the gravel. Her hair was pure black and it hung down past her shoulders, matching her dress so well that you almost couldn't tell the difference between them. Although it was hard to tell from such a distance, Rodolphus could see that her eyes were also the strong colour of charcoal, mainly because they stuck out so much in contrast to her snow white skin.

She was the most delicate, darkest thing that Rodolphus Lestrange had ever laid eyes on.

Next out of the car was a younger girl with soft brown hair even longer than the first. She was an obvious beauty and in years to come he could just imagine the many hearts she would break at Hogwarts.

The two girls turned back to face the car and out jumped a little sprite dressed in white with matching hair that curled above her shoulders. She was the farthest thing in looks from her sisters that if not for the fact that she was also a terribly beautiful creature it would be almost impossible to tell that they were related at all.

Satisfied with what he'd seen, Rodolphus turned away from the window but not before catching a glimpse of the two older girls grabbing a hold of the younger's hands and heading off towards the house in a mournful march.

…

I stared at the opposite wall from my bed, counting the cracks and lines unseeable to the untrained eye. I couldn't get to sleep, it was a solid conclusion I'd come to about an hour ago and one that I wasn't wavering from. I was tired, very tired, but nothing could keep the holds of sleep on me. I'd even tried counting sheep – that was supposed to help, right? – but to no avail.

It was weird being in a new house and especially one that held a new family that I hadn't even met before. They were OK, I supposed, a little closed off but not unkind. My cousin, Evan, had already been in bed when we arrived so I hadn't met him yet. I just hoped to god he wasn't a spoilt brat like Lucius Malfoy who I _had_ met and many times.

"Pss, Bella!" Cissy's voice hissed from somewhere on the other side of the room. We'd all been happy when we'd found out that we'd be sleeping in the same room. "Bella, are you awake?"

I didn't answer, instead continuing to gaze at the wall.

There was the sound of covers peeling back and footsteps travelling across carpeted floor. The next thing I knew, the doona was being pulled off my prone form and a tiny body was crawling into bed beside me, blocking my view of the wall. I sighed, breathing in the scent of Narcissa, a soft mix of Narcissus flowers kept in her room at home and peppermint (Andy smelt like honey).

Closing my eyes, I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face in her blonde hair. She didn't just smell like Narcissa – she smelt like home.

"Bella, when are Momma and Papa coming back?"

"They're not, Cissy," I said, voice growing thick.

"Why not?" she asked, voice small.

"I don't know." Why weren't they coming back? Why was it that my parents, of all people, had died?"

"Was it something we did?"

I opened my mouth to deny it, as I should, but after a hesitant pause closed it again. _Was_ it our fault? Had we done something? Something bad? Was somebody punishing us?

"I don't know," I whispered finally.

There was the sound of shuffling and moments later the smell of honey and grass hit me and Andromeda was climbing into bed behind me. I closed my eyes again against Cissy's hair as I felt my other sister wrap her arms around my waist. Finally, I allowed sleep to take me, wedged tightly between the only two things I had left.


End file.
